


Letters of Inconvenience

by Eyeliner_Vampire



Category: Ghost Hunt
Genre: Akihabara, Fortune Telling, Gen, Letters, Light Angst, Light Suspence, One-Shot, Unwanted Truths, vending machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyeliner_Vampire/pseuds/Eyeliner_Vampire
Summary: Noll seeks answers from unlikely places. One-shot





	Letters of Inconvenience

Letters of Inconvenience

It took him longer to find than he would ever admit; half a day wasted wandering through a maze of side streets with no map and growing more doubtful one would have helped anyway. Akihabara wasn't a place that stayed still. Luckily, ghosts didn't often make a habit of moving.

As sweat dripped between his shoulder blades, Noll found what he was looking for: a collection of vending machines tucked into the side of an apartment building just off the main street. It was impossible to miss, at least, to someone who tended towards the supernatural. There were those who walked past, barely glancing in its directions, but then there were those who eyed it with suspicion. Noll was the latter. He only waited a moment to take in the worn away kanji painted down the side of the entrance before stepping inside.

There were no doors, though the sound of the street seemed to stop just inside the archway. The way the machines lined the walls, pushed into odd angles and some facing each other with no way to collect the contents inside, it was easy to see how some would think it haunted. Noll stood between two units, eyeing the marquee of light emanating from another just beyond them. Seen out of the corner of the eye, it would be simple to mistake the shadow for a spirit. Most reported paranormal activity could be boiled down to human error, he knew that, but he withheld judgement. If the rumors were true, it wasn't a ghost he was after anyway.

Turning the corner and quickly side-stepping a cabinet selling snacks of rhinoceros beetles, he spied what must have been the oldest machine in the cluster, covered in dust and pushed into a far back corner.

Like most things, at first glance it was just another forgotten vending machine. But the more he looked, the more he was sure this was what he was looking for. This machine wasn't selling candy, or beetles, or popcorn. It was selling letters.

Noll stepped closer.

Envelopes of varying sizes, each sealed shut and perfectly blank, sat pinched between metal coils. At the top of the cabinet, taped to the foggy glass window, was a handwritten sign.

Ask me anything.

Insert coins and wait.

One time only. No refunds.

Noll shook his head. Rumor was, these letters could tell the future. It was said that they could answer even the most difficult of questions, tell the date of your death, the name of your future wife. It offered the invariable truth and only for 500 yen. Catch was, you could only use it once.

Noll didn't often believe in such things, not without rigorous tests and research. He had yet to meet a psychic who could correctly tell the future let alone a machine. Yet here he was, pulling a 500 yen coin from his pocket.

Ask me anything.

He pushed the coin in and closed his eyes.

Where is Gene's body?

Noll waited a few seconds longer than felt comfortable, heart thumping hard. It was a silly thing to do, to ask advice from a vending machine. A little voice inside him selfishly asked if Gene were worth it. Of all the things he could have asked, why waste it on his dead brother. Noll tucked that thought away, he'd deal with it later.

He opened his eyes, searching for something different; a letter addressed to him, a stamp, anything — but there was nothing. He let out a breath, shaky, almost a laugh, and then he heard the scratch of pen on paper. On the bottom row, black ink soaked into an envelope the size of a post card, as if what had been written inside had not yet dried. Noll pressed a hand to the glass. Had that been there before? Could he have missed it?

The machine whirred to life and a metal shelf rose up to fetch the letter. Noll waited, watching as it descended and the envelope slid into the opening. He bent quickly to retrieve it, afraid it might disappear if he let it linger there.

The envelope was smooth under his fingers, and warm. He turned it over, pulling the flap open with deft hands. Could this be it? His face felt hot. After a year of looking for Gene, could this be the answer?

The ink was a little smudged as he pulled the paper free and unfolded it, reading hungrily the single line written in thin, slanting writing.

「Seiten no heki-reki」

Noll stared at it. It was written in romanji as if wanting to make sure Noll could not misunderstand.

Seiten no heki-reki. Thunderclap from a clear sky.

Noll glared at the words, waiting for them to make sense. When they refused, he turned the paper over, searching for more — an address, anything — but there was nothing.

What kind of joke was this? He'd wished for answers, not a damned fortune cookie.

Noll looked up at the machine, searching for the source of the cruel joke but there was nothing. In the time he looked away, the rows of letters had emptied themselves. Only rusted metal coils looked back at him now, daring him to try again.

One time only.

Noll crumpled the paper his fists. A vending machine that could tell the future, he should have known better than to get his hopes up. How could he call himself an investigator when he believed in such nonsense?

Noll turned his back, dropping the paper into a small trash bin. If he was going to find Gene, he didn't have time for games. And he going to find Gene no matter how long it would take.

As he walked away, the ink slid and letters rearranged themselves until new words emerged. A place; the name of a lake and a camp site. And then the ink faded, slowly, into nothing, unseen.


End file.
